


from another point of view

by clutzycricket



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/clutzycricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are always stories, about the... peculiar things people leave behind, for good or for bad. (Take Aegon the Unworthy, who left the world a slow-burning war as his legacy. )</p><p>Trying to shape these things can lead to unexpected things, but not planning can leave the decisions to people who might not know what you meant.</p><p>(Hell, you might not know what you meant.)</p><p>From a job opening, to little wooden carvings, to a fleet of ships... what can you leave and who do you leave it to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Leather Book

**Author's Note:**

> “Well, what is a blessing but a curse from another point of view?”  
> ― Lois McMaster Bujold, The Curse of Chalion
> 
> From tumblr's unusual inheritance prompts.

Okay, he knew vague stories about his dad’s cousin Alyx, who had been kiiiind of a second cousin or something through dad’s grandmother- he’d need to ask Viserys, he knew family trees like Aegon knew code. But Alyx had apparently crashed into Aegon’s christening, like some drunken guy version of Maleficent. And Dad, because really, Dad had his own Targaryen madness, had agreed to make him Aegon’s godfather. 

(Okay, more likely, Jon Connington had insulted Aegon’s mother, and Dad had been offended enough to switch. Either way, lucky Rhae ended up with Auntie Ash and Baelor Hightower and he ended up with Cousin Alyx and _Arianne_.)

And he’d been a vague blonde shape at Dany’s photography show, a year ago. But apparently he was dead.

“Not a bad way to go,” Uncle Oberyn said, looking at the obit that Gran had cut out to file with her prayer cards. “Some rave up North, with his head buried in some would-be actress’ lap.”

“One, that is not in that article, two, he died because of poisoned drugs,” Aegon pointed out. “And really, a bad trip isn’t the way I’d want to go.” Not after his one and only attempt lead to him being stark naked two nights before his finals. On top of a bridge, with a remarkably sympathetic EMT who just wanted him to hurry up his recital of… whatever.

Uncle Oberyn was clearly remembering that- or remembering his sister’s rant on the subject. 

“He left me something in his will, apparently,” Aegon said, confused.

“Well, he was your godfather,” his uncle said, looking amused at something.

Never a good idea to ask.

~

Aegon was looking at the list of IOUs in his godfather’s little red ledger, remarkably without a single Black Widow joke. They made about as much sense as a comedy plot, anyway. There was no context, which might have made everything make sense.

“Why would there be one for a goat?” he muttered, before looking at the next entry. “Or a sword that glows blue whenever goblins are around?” Goblins didn’t exist… 

There was one for a services equivalent to getting and transporting fifty boxes of Romanian soil, and…

He looked up at the sound of knocking. 

~

Sansa Stark looked up at the sound of pounding on her door, tightening her grip on the remote. “Who’s there?”

Stupid girl, she told herself. Don’t let them know you’re home.

“Sansa,” pouted a familiar voice, relief nearly sending her back on the couch. “I need someone sensible.”

She unlocked the door, letting Aegon come in on a cloud of the pomegranate wine she’d left at his place, mixed with the fug of Skittles vodka. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, crossing her arms and trying to look stern.

“My godfather left me a bunch of really weird IOUs, and I thought it was a joke, but then some creepy Valkerie chick came up and said we need to repopulate Brigadoon.” He dropped his head on her shoulder.

Sansa stared. “Er… try filling in the steps you missed there?”

“Well, there were the IOUs in this book, and I started to think they were a joke, until I heard this knocking, and this really tall woman- taller than you, even- and she had an ax and fur boots,” he started, before drifting off.

“And what did she want with you?” Sansa asked, wondering how the woman got through building security.

“That she was part of some fantasy people and I was going to be her pretty boy consort on a hidden island,” he said. “Which is a really weird combo, here, and sounds like the opening to a porno book.”

“Were you drinking before this?” Sansa asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as she was. This was clearly some drunken prank, and Aegon was normally sensible enough to _not do this to her_.

The alternative, that he was ill and hallucinating, was what keep her voice even. She knew what had happened to his grandfather and uncle, even if Viserys was happier with himself now.

“No, no, that was after…” he straightened and waved his hand. “The enormity of my fuck up crashed on me. I even checked the security footage.” He stumbled over to her laptop, which he’d tricked out in return for some of her lemon tarts. He plugged in a USB stick, pulling up the remarkably crisp security footage. 

(Jon and Elia had helped her find this place, when Jeyne took the teaching job in Japan to get away from everything. Jon said his brother, who had some sort of top secret government job, lived there and could get her in. She wasn’t sure how legal it was, but she liked her neighbors and wasn’t living in fear of Joffrey. Even if Eve was terrifyingly competent in a business skirt and heels Sansa would kill to be able to wear without feeling like a giantess.)

There was a sharp-faced woman with a very large ax, and a wide-eyed Aegon flailing from over her shoulder. Aegon was saying something, and she held up a… jet of water?

What on earth…

It took a few minutes before she left and Aegon sagged against the door.

“What did you say to her to make her leave?” she asked. “You asked for some time to stock up on condoms?” Okay, that was more of an Arya thing to say, but Arya _was_ her sister.

“Actually, I said I was already married, and I didn’t want to leave her,” Aegon said, turning red.

“Aegon, I know you can be a flake, but you aren’t even _dating_.” Sansa pinched her nose.

“I know,” Aegon moaned, staggering over to her overstuffed couch. “I need to ask you a favor,” he said, black eyes looking pleadingly up from the couch.

“Are you asking me to be your fake wife?” she asked. 

“I can’t think of anyone I’d prefer to ask,” he said. “I can buy you pizza and chase away idiot men who try to hassle you.”

“I can’t think of anyone I would prefer to pick out pizza,” she said, remembering the horrible pizza Robb liked, with anchovies and bacon.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mmm,” Aegon said, staring at the letter. “I get the IOU collection from hell, you get an army of wooden carvings.”

“Aunt Lysa collected them,” Sansa said, not sure how to feel about this. She had helped with Robin for a while after her husband died, and as… tense as their household had been- Arya had called it “early horror movie”- she had grown fond of Lysa when she was happy. And Lysa had been supportive after Joffrey…

“I’ll place them on a shelf for now,” she said. “Though they look old enough to go to a museum.” She held up one, a falcon flying from a nest of roses. It had been polished and cared for, obviously. 

“Mmm,” Aegon said, looking at the three nested dragons strangely before shaking his head. “They are just a little bit creepy… but at least they are better then dolls. Or puppets.”

She hid a grin- her mother had already donated Aunt Lysa’s dolls for just that reason. (Though it was _her father_ being creeped out. Which had made Uncle Brandon laugh until he actually saw it. Her mother loved Aunt Lysa, and kept the poetry books, but the eyes…)

“Though given the givens, you’ll pardon me for feeling a little bit like a horror movie husband,” he said. 

Sansa sighed, but accepted it. They were harsh and sharply angled, and not very… friendly looking.

~

No one should be able to break into their apartment. There were that many security measures, plus what Aegon had once, in a haze of exhaustion and irritation, called “a hoard of childish murder cats”. 

(Since they did not have cats, she assumed it was some of his coworkers who shared the building.)

But the door snicked open, and Sansa was spooning over a deeply asleep Aegon. 

Thoughts of Joffrey spilled into her head and raced with a dizzying speed as she tried to wake Aegon up. 

Was he drugged? She wondered wildly, remembering the strange woman with the ax and the… magic?

She heard a voice, and grabbed the sturdy baton Elia had drilled her with until her arm felt ready to drop off. 

Then there was a pained shout, and Sansa reached for her phone. She sent a text to Eve next door, who had seen her scars and teased out her story. 

There was a man with three slender little dragons tangled over him, a mermaid with a wicked dagger at his throat. 

“Help, help,” he gasped.

“Why?” Sansa asked, shaking. There was a knife dropped by the door, and a gun- a _gun_ \- just out of his hand. She hurriedly kicked it, not caring if he was getting a view of her underwear.

They were Aunt Lysa’s carvings, she realized, nearly hysterical. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the housebreaker. One thing at a time. She could scream and cry later.

Though she was remembering the rumors that Aunt Lysa had murdered her husband, but no one knew how.

“I needed the carvings, but killing Targaryen would have worked,” he said, with the mermaid holding the blade flat against his throat.

“He cannot lie to you, my lady,” the mermaid said, something gleeful in her voice.

“Right,” Sansa said. What to do…

“If I’d claimed it before you did, they’d be mine,” he said. 

“The Firefish claimed the Candle as her heir four midwinters ago,” the mermaid said. “And sealed it with blood and death.”

Four… Sansa did the math. Joffery had died four Decembers ago, she thought. It had been a car accident, his car suddenly skidding out of control thanks to what had been assumed to be a melting patch of black ice.

Or not. Maybe. Aunt Lysa wasn’t here to tell.

“Stay until I hear my neighbor at the door, please,” Sansa asked. “Then it might be easier if you hid.”

“Clever lady,” the smallest dragon hissed.

“And who is keeping my husband asleep,” she asked the dragons. It wasn’t terribly likely that Aegon was drugged, a floating calm seemed to tell her.

“A spell, lady,” the middle dragon said. “You are ours. He is not.”

Sansa huffed. “He is my husband, and you will treat him as you treat me.”

There was something terribly cold and possessive in the dragon’s eyes. “We may have two…”

Focus on making a long-term solution to work from. At least until his cousin and sister looked into it. “Yes.”

“Lady, we thank you…”

Hopefully, she told herself as there was a knock, that would keep them from doing anything to Aegon.

Hopefully.


	3. Chapter 3

Dany looked at the box, not sure what the polite thing to say was. “Seriously, what?”

It most likely wasn’t _that_.

The lawyer for the Morpatis estate smiled greasily at her. “Our esteemed client was an admirer of your work- that went to his late wife’s family, but he thought you could get a good use from this.”

What kind of use she could get from an enormous sword in a dark, smoky metal that looked longer than she was tall, Dany didn’t know.

“Did your esteemed client happen to say why this?” she asked. She was handed a note.

_Miss Targaryen,_

_Thank you for your time in coming to this little showing. I am leaving Blackfyre to your care as I believe you would both enjoy the consequences and implications it carries. Blackfyre was the treasure of my dear Serra’s blood, you see. And seeing your work, I am reminded of her way of seeing the world, in all its glory and tragedy._

_Do enjoy, and do have fun storming the castle._

_Illyrio Morpatis_

That made… no sense? Dany put a hand on the … pommel, was it, with snarling dragons coaxed to perch out from the metal handle.

The office dissolved, sending her painfully on her ass, and all she could smell was woods and there were bird calls and running water, making her spin around. The woods were old, killing the light. 

She held the sword tighter, wishing she’d taken fencing lessons with Aegon and Vis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell this is the only one where the intended length didn't get at least mildly away from me?


	4. Chapter 4

Walda was saddened but not surprised when her husband died. She had  _warned_ Roose about Ramsey. Ramsey looked at him the way that Black Walder looked at… everyone, but most especially her grandfather. Roose had brushed her off, of course- he enjoyed her company, of course, and they were a good match in bed, but he thought her silly and given to quivering.

Walda, who had survived being a girl among Freys and her parents’ bitter marriage, had been in Ami’s place when Roose died watching Criminal Minds. 

(Which, possibly, was why Roose disbelieved her. They marathoned the show sometimes.)

She’d cried a bit without being useless, with darling Ami screaming enough for the both of them. 

After a little legal wrangling- Walda _was_ carrying Roose’s child, after all, and her mother and one of her uncles were lawyers- she settled down with sharp Madam Dustin to hear Roose’s will.

She’d never heard of the ships left to her, the Night’s King, the Flayed Man, the White Knife, the Barrow King, and the Silverweight. Madam Dustin had made a thin little smile at that, and at Walda’s blush at the last.

She needed to figure out what was on the ships, to best keep them away from her family and other forms of trouble. Of course they couldn’t come to her, Roose had been, ah, firm on the subject of them staying in international waters, and unless she had other evidence, she’d trust her husband’s caution. And she’d have to wait until after Baby, of course.

Five months later, the indirect route her cousin- properly distanced, having turned smuggler- had helped her come up with had posed its own difficulties, and Walda was certain she’d never like traveling by helicopter- she was _certain_ to have grey hairs after this. 

There was a sturdy sailor to help her down, and she looked around curiously. 

“As you can imagine, I would like to familiarize myself practically with the work being done on the Silverweight,” she said.

He grinned. “Ah, well we’re the finest medical research ship in the sea. The Night might do their salvage works, but they’re too focused on the past, while we’ve got our eyes on the future.”

She nodded, very happy her daughter was safely with her mother back home. And that she had deciphered Roose’s cryptic notes correctly. It did seem like the crews only had a limited knowledge of each other, perhaps only of one or two other ships. “I look forward to seeing it,” she said, surprised to recognize that she really did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, switching after this to a daily schedule, because I do have all the fics done.

Look, it might not have been the smartest thing to do. But Arya needed a job- she was kind of used to the people who looked at her, subtracted at least three years off her age, took off points for her untameable hair and height, and didn’t even bother double-checking her resume before writing her off.

So when she got the grey envelope with her name on it, inviting her to try for a position in the Barth Sanctuary, well… she didn’t have much to lose, and between Gendry, Micah, and Sansa’s crazy friend Elia, she could handle herself.

She still told Bran where she was going, just in case, y’know, horror movie.

But since Jon’s experience along these lines led to him working with  _stegosauruses_ , Arya thought this might work out.

And the place was pretty cool- the fences were hidden, there was a ton of space, and the woman who met her had on falconer’s gear with her hair falling out of a braid. 

And the woman in the office was tinier than Arya, even, with her fairy-princess blonde hair worn in a clamp and light scratches and bigger scars down her arms. 

“Dany Targaryen- Jon and Rhaenys both told me about you on my trips home,” she said, motioning towards a seat.

Well, that made sense- Jon had been the recipient of a thousand emails when Arya was planning to go to school, and Sansa had adored their cousin’s clever, pretty older sister.

“One of our previous keepers died- of a condition that he acquired before coming here-” and huh, she had the same “sort of lying” face Jon did. Weird. “-and I need a replacement. You came highly recommended, both for your ability to adapt as well as your more usual skills.”

“Okay, so what exactly am I going to be doing?” Arya probably didn’t have the best interviewing skills, she had to admit.

“As hard as this might be to believe,” Dany said, revealing she clearly didn’t know about her nephew and his wife’s own… history? Arya wasn’t sure what the best word was for it. “I was given a sword, that allowed me to travel between worlds. And, in doing so, I learned I was not the only one to do so. Some of those travelers were animals, who either wandered through a stray door, or who were taken as pets.” Her expression was murderous, which improved Arya’s opinion of her.

“Okay,” she said, slowly. Well, if she could believe Aunt Lysa murdered a couple people with carvings, she could give this a whirl… 

The door nudged open, revealing a wolf-pup who bounded up to Arya and tried to howl.

“Hello, there,” Arya said. 

“She’s a direwolf,” Dany explained. “Usually to be found causing trouble. We’re calling her Nymeria.”

Then a baby fucking dragon came through the door, and Arya, still letting Nymeria sniff at her, admitted she was so taking the job.

Even if she might have to snoop a little bit about what happened to the last person who had the job.


	6. Chapter 6

Of all the days Loras could have stolen her charger, Margaery thought, trying not to visibly pick up the pace with which her high heels clicked down the street.

She only needed to get two blocks further, she told herself. Two blocks, and one of them on a busy street. Then there would be sharp tongued Marei and bubbly Dancy, who could throw darts better than Garlan. 

Also Steve, but she highly doubted that a mugger would look at Steve “Scrappy and Built Like a Greek Statue” Rogers and try anything.

There were three of them, though, she reflected, deciding she was close enough to run. 

Though she’d try not to shout for help just yet.

Then there was a thud, a surprised yelp, and a low, very female, “Shoot.”

Margaery saw a scrap of red and black as she turned the corner. “Steve,” she called, as pleasantly as possible. 

Steve looked up. Margaery nodded at the alleyway, and Steve tore down.

“Always a pleasure to see him go,” Dancy said, her cinnamon pageboy streaked with peroxide blonde. She was glaring at a customer who was wrinkling her nose.

Marei walked over. “I feel we should call someone. That seems like a normal thing to do.”

“Daredevil was there,” Margaery said, after a moment.

“No calling people then,” Marei, who had the looks and manner of a Lannister, said, before turning back to the shop. “Good, I have idiots to herd.”

Dancy took Marg’s arm and escorted her inside.

~

Margaery’s email gives a soft little chirp just as Steve walks in, hands in his pockets and eyes surveying the room.

She grins up at him and offers him the pumpkin coffee that he’d tried on a bet and ended up adoring. “Did I mention how much I love the beard?”

“It works as good camouflage,” Steve said, eyebrows raised.

“No, no, it suits you. In a different way then non-shaven suits you,” she said, mock-studying him. “Clearly, though, I can stand a closer, more private inspection.”

He gives that sneaky grin. “Careful, Natasha probably isn’t too far away.”

Margaery looks around. “Am I that much of a threat?”

“No, but Natasha likes playing matchmaker. Or making fun of my lack of a social life,” he shrugged. “Hard to tell. D said hello, by the way. She vanished before Nat and the others showed up.” There was a tiny bit of mischief, and she wondered if the woman had vanished or been gently shooed away from nosy SHIELD agents.

She sighed, giving in to the temptation of checking her mail.It was a message from… Aunt Lyn? 

“Oh,” was all she said, before passing the message to Steve, who read it with a growing furrow between his eyebrows.

_Margaery,_

_This is to be sent in the occasion of my death or extended disappearance, I am afraid. I have made many mistakes- some of action, some of inaction- and self-awareness lets me admit that those mistakes are the sort to craft me a sticky end indeed._

_Perhaps that would be for the best, if Alerie ever knew what the possible cost of one of my mistakes has been. Your mother is implacable in her fury, if someone actually manages to trigger it. It is just that usually you realize how badly you erred too late, when all is ashes and broken tools._

_You see, fifteen years ago, I had a small amount of… materials, that I acquired from a man named Roose Bolton. After a year or so had passed, the heat had died down. But in that year, I also came into possession of a safe requiring a genetic lock. When I needed to find a key, using my own DNA seemed like an unneeded risk. And Alerie asked me to accompany you to get your hair cut…_

_It seemed foolproof. But I am beginning to suspect that someone is tampering in my records. Of the people who could have done it… I don’t believe Malora or Humphrey would harm me. Or you. Jorah has recently died on his little nature preserve, of an illness he contracted after our marriage ended. (And if my sister grumbles, I did not kill him. He was always a blunt man, and he offended the wrong man.)_

_Lynesse Hightower_

There was a long moment of silence.

“I could really grow to hate your aunt,” Steve said.

“Me too,” Margaery sighed. She supposed every family needed its own ruthless amoral alarmist.


	7. Chapter 7

Rhaenys was possibly hiding. Just a bit.

Nym had promised to run interference, with Edmure promising to keep Nym from killing anyone.

Of course, she’d still probably have to deal with Poor Blind Rhaenys, but Edmure, Nym, Mum, and Ari would snap at them, and maybe she’d just sit with Tyene. No one messed with Tyene, not even Lyanna.

Which, one, Dad wasn’t even invited to Aegon’s wedding. Sansa had pointed out that she’d spoken to her aunt maybe six times in over twenty-five years, mostly with regards to Jon. She’d known Gran more. And Dad was kind of awful, and Rhae had lived with him until she was seventeen and went to Columbia. Aegon went back across the ocean with Mum after the messy custody battle, so only saw him every other holiday season.

I’m a superhero, she thought, wryly. I punch guys twice my weight and toss them over my hip.

I don’t think I can punch Dad though, even if Uncle backed me up, she admitted to herself.

She needed to get back to the rooms, though, so she could be ready for Sansa- Mum and Sansa’s mother had promised Lyanna would be kept away, but Rhae just needed to be alone for two minutes.

“Miss Targaryen?” came a voice, somewhat close in accent to Mum. She aimed a smile at him.

“That would be me,” she said. Probably one of Aegon’s coworkers- Inky had been complaining about how some of them kept dropping by for Sansa’s cooking, and they’d smiled when they heard Cat Stark’s comapny was handling the food. (Gran, of course, was handling everything else. Something about there being no proper weddings since Mum and Dad.)

“My name is Jason Blood, and I’ve been trying to track you down for some time,” he said.

The prickling cluster of instincts that had only gotten louder since Elektra stormed into her life went haywire. “…I can take it you aren’t here for the wedding, then?”

“I offer congratulations to the happy couple, but I have not met them, no,” he said, sounding amused.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“About a year or so before you were born, when your grandfather’s illness started to show, and he was held for ransom, he summoned a…” the man paused. “I realize this sounds much more sensible in my head, probably from long experience.”

“I’m used to nonsensical,” she said, mildly enough. Her stance shifted a bit, though, for more solid footing. (And bless Sansa for not forcing heels, even if it was because three of the four bridesmaids put their feet down.)

“He summoned a demon to help in his escape and revenge,” Blood said, “though I think he was aiming for something different.”

Rhaenys’ dim memories of Grandfather Targaryen were so very different from the sneaky, snarky man who kept “visiting” to check on her with Uncle Oberyn and Auntie Ash. He’d told her stories on his good days about Old Targaryens and dragons, she knew more from Vis than memories, and there was a dim feeling of uneasiness and pain. Gran hated to talk about him, and Dad looked uneasy whenever Vis mentioned him.

Uncle Oberyn was blunt on how he felt about the man.

“I can believe it,” she said, finally. “But what does this have to do with me?”

Blood was picking his words carefully now, and Rhaenys listened for signs of lying. “He may have made a promise, as is traditional. He may have stretched the wording, but with the way language shifts….”

Vaguely, she remembered her father speaking to her about old languages, a light soft scarf with thick embroidery of Linear B he’d had made for her. There had been something about old… she wasn’t sure which language, but her father had said with a trace of humor that trying to pin down which exact title a word meant was kind of like playing roulette. “What was the effective result?”

“He promised you, actually, but in doing so he left a bit of a loophole.” The man was shifting on his feet now, and Rhaenys chose to focus on ways to floor him, if needed. “You see, the demon- Etrigan, an impulsive monster if there ever was one, was bound to a human. This man is still around, and given the situation of the world we find ourselves in, a… partner might not be amiss.”

“You do know I’m blind,” she said, crossing her arms.

“And you know I’m talking about myself, Daredevil,” he said, perfectly normally.

Knowing that Edmure was going to throw an absolute fit when he found out, she grinned. “Well, this could work,” she said, holding out a hand.

He couldn’t be more trouble than Elektra, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For those curious- while I kept Elektra, Edmure=Foggy, Myrielle=Karen)


	8. Chapter 8

Myrielle Lannister had grown up knowing she looked terribly like her aunt as a girl.

It shouldn’t have effected her life, really, but Tywin Lannister was, to the Lannisters at least, pretty much god.

A god who didn’t live anywhere New York City, where Myri may have… not quite fled, but she wanted to avoid Cersei’s alarming looks and the gossipy tones of Genna, and all that.

Even if he was out of reach during the whole “hey, someone is framing me for murder, and a motherfucking Targaryen who had every reason to beat anyone named Lannister to death is actually my lawyer, what the fuck is my LIFE”, she was still kind of surprised when he died.

Even more so that he had actually left something to her, even if it was only by process of elimination. (Jaime was fuck knows where, he hated Tyrion, Cersei had had a giant fight with him a few months ago, Joff was in jail, Myrcella was married to a Martell, Tommen was Tommen, Cer was the Queen of Impulsive, and Devan had ignored Uncle Tywin for Freckles.)

“Is everything okay?” Edmure asked, and Myri looked at the letter again.

“Do we have a Devil signal? Because my uncle died, and left me… a business? I think? But I actually have no idea what I’m getting into, so…” she shrugged. “Fuck, I hate family.”

“Sounds like me and my Uncle,” Edmure grinned, all softbro prettiness and honest sympathy. “Not a SHIELD agent, not useful. And as for the idea of a Devil signal…”

“Sorry I’m late,” Rhaenys said, holding a box of pastries in one hand and her cane loosely in another. “Néni Dany is crashing at my place, and then Mrs. Maize wanted to give me some of the pastries she made.” Edmure started laughing, until Rhaenys whapped him with her cane across his knee.

(Myri was pretty sure she knew why Edmure thought the situation funny, but knowing about it would mean being an accessory, and she nearly went to jail once this year, so she’d drown in plausible deniability, thanks.)

But Rhae listened as Myri read the letter, and they decided that letting Jon know just in case was probably a good idea.

~

“I… don’t know what to say,” Myrielle Lannister said, long golden hair in a meticulous braid, wide light green eyes perfectly made up. She looked every inch a Lannister, if perhaps a little less…

The lawyer wasn’t sure, but the woman was paler, and not quite sharper, but sparer, perhaps, than Tywin’s immediate family.  “If you refuse this, Genna Lannister-Frey is to…”

“I didn’t say I was refusing it,” Miss Lannister said, meeting his eyes. There is something sly and dangerous in that grin, and if you told him that she’d faced down worse things with that same lipstick and that same look, he would have believed you.

~

Tywin Lannister had amassed a network of people, bound by obligations, by favors owed, by the fact he was possibly richer than Tony Stark…

And he had left it to Myrielle.

Who smiled, knowing that while Fisk was dead- he’d harmed a Lannister, after all- there were still other people about, who could try to work from his ashes. And then they would have to deal with her, or one of her people, doing jobs that Public!Tywin Lannister would have scorned.

She’d left the firm, of course, with Edmure looking baffled and Rhaenys looking contemplative, but Jeyne Westerling was cute, stubborn, and had grown up with the Spicers, so she’d be a half-decent replacement, especially with that demonologist hovering around Rhae.

Myri smiled at her (working!) coffee maker and mused that she might need an assistant. Perhaps Cousin Rosamund?


End file.
